Something Puckish
by bonniepatsy
Summary: Some nasty murders call Sam, Dean, Cas and Garth to town. Garth calls in a contact and she may be more then they bargained for. After Cas introduces himself as 'Jimmy' - the brothers come to the conclusion this girl could illuminate bits of Cas's past. But can they stick with her long enough to find out? T for future chapters. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1: Something Puckish

**Hello!**

**This is my first ever fanfiction.**

**I had been toying with this idea for a while.**

**It's rated T for future chapters where there might be a torture scene and a love scene**

**Basically there were a lot of loose ends regarding some backstories of the angels and demons**

**And I like the idea of hobgoblins.**

**Also, this has no set time, but its before the season 8 finale and after they find the Men of Letters base.**

**ALSO ALSO: The cover art belongs to the lovely and talented Luisa Schenk - you can find more of her art at **

**Tell me what you think (be gentle please)**

They pulled up outside the ramshackle house - Dean, Sam, Garth and Castiel in the Impala. Vines covered most of the windows, twisting up and through the already broken frame. The wrap around porch was peeling away from the exterior, and there were several gaps in the rust colored shingles on the roof. A small garden peeked around the back of the house and a rust bucket Chevy pick-up was parked inconspicuously along the edge of the dense woods. The whole picture screamed neglect. Or trap. Dean, a stocky, sarcastic handsome man in jeans and a leather jacket, turned around to face Garth in the back seat, giving him a 'You-Can't-Be-Serious' look.

"I'm telling you," said Garth earnestly "I know this girl. She can help." He crossed his heart with his index finger. Garth was a small gentleman who was visually unimpressive. He had the eyes of a child and ears that stuck out from his head, but his heart of gold and grounded nature kept his present company from crossing the line on more then one account. A trend that would soon be called a habit with the current case.

There had been an outbreak of particularly violent murders on a cul de sac two towns over. Castiel, a brooding and scruffy angel with little knowledge of pop culture, and the two brothers - Dean being the eldest and Sam being the larger and somewhat more compassionate of the two - had been on the case when they ran into Garth. Garth, who had heard of the misfortunes, proposed they meet with a contact of his, whom he had met when he first started out as a hunter.

"I sense there is a formidable being in that house." Castiel said, looking out the window intently. "We should tread with caution." Garth shrugged and got out of the car, followed by Castiel, who murmured "This does not seem like a cautionary tread."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look of exasperation, and removed themselves from the Impala as well. The troop made their way across the large front lawn hesitantly. It was early in the day, and quite pleasant aside from the wooden monstrosity that only barely passed for a house. It cast a long gray shadow across the grass, yellowed with thirst. Halfway to the door Garth turned to face the rest of the party.

"You know, maybe I should do this one on my own." he stated shiftily, not meeting any of their gazes.

After a pause where Garth made no further effort to supply information Sam asked why.

"Well . . . she's not um . . . stable?" he tilted his head, unsure if that was the word to use.

"Is she dangerous?" Dean asked urgently, his hand twitching towards the gun in his belt.

"No, no no." Garth protested, throwing his hands up as if to ward them off "She's just . . . she's . . . well . . . Not _un_stable . . . she's - she's not a fan of visitors." he finished lamely. "So, how about, you guys stay here and I'll ease her into the situation."

"Garth, I don't like this." said Dean seriously.

"I know but she-"

"Is there a possibility you could get hurt?" Sam supplied diplomatically.

"Well, no . . ." Garth teetered

"Well no' is not 'no'. We're coming in with you." Dean crossed his arms. Garth sighed.

"Fine, but be quiet and don't make sudden movements." he conceded and continued walking to the house. The trio exchanged uneasy looks ('Sudden movements' mouthed Dean) before following the lanky man to the top of the steps. He knocked on the door. It opened at his touch. He hesitated and then pushed it open, looking over his shoulder at the guys. No one was inside the door.

"Hello?" called Garth. He stepped hesitantly into the entry way. "Hellloooo? Anybody home?"

Dean took out his gun and went in next, followed by Sam and Cas. The floor boards creaked and the group spread out, peeking into rooms or taking in the surroundings.

"Robin? It's meeeee. Are you here?" Garth called again. Castiel cleared his throat. They turned to him and he pointed to the doorway on the far end of the hall on the left, where extremely faint shuffling could be heard. Wind blew from outside and rattled the windows. The trees groaned, the house swayed and the bright sunny day seemed suddenly eerie and pressing. They passed through the door at the end of the hallway to an open space with a lopsided couch, a coffee table piled with books, several moldy looking beanbag chairs, a small TV, and a hutch with blue china. It looked as though it had once been many rooms, but walls had been removed to create a bigger space. Cas grunted and pointed to a door along the entry wall, all the way at the end. They tiptoed through it.

"Robin?" Garth tried again. This room was different then the rest of the house. It was almost completely devoid of sunlight. Like the previous room, it had once been several spaces, but walls and two floors were dismantled to create one large concrete box. Small slit windows peppered the areas closest to the ceiling. Old potato sacks, broken pottery, shards of glass, metal and skeletons of small animals were strewn across the floor. There were ropes, jungle bars and weight plates arranged in no particular order, set up along the walls and from the ceiling and a table of what appeared to be a collection of different sized knives on the far side against the wall. Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, incredulous. Sam shook his head with wide eyes, having little knowledge on anything at this point.

Garth cleared his throat, "Hellooo-WAH!"

There was a bang, dust burst off the floor, papers flew, Dean fired his gun, several people shouted, weights whizzed through the air and in the chaos Garth, Dean, Sam and Cas were all thrown against the wall, held halfway up by an invisible force. A pause. Silence. Everyone was breathing heavily as the dust settled, revealing a woman who could be 35. Her stance implied that she was the invisible force, her hands held rigid and aloft, her legs parted, her feet firmly planted - supporting her should she choose to attack.

Her face was intense, with eyes were like ice. High aristocratic cheekbones were chiseled out by wild brown hair. She was dressed in a way that did not quite suit her. She had on hi-tops that were more duct tape then shoe, and a sweatshirt 3 sizes too large that came down almost mid thigh. Her jeans were dirty and torn with some traces of blood. Her's or someone else's, was unknown. She was breathing heavily too.

The dust cleared enough for her too see the intruders. She scrutinized them with deadly precision. And then, just like that, her face crumpled – it was open and confused, she suddenly looked no older then 20.

"Wh-wh-what?" she gasped "Garth?" she relaxed her stance and they all fell to the ground. "Oh my god!" she murmured shakily, rushing forward. She fell to her knees, trying to help Garth to his feet. "I am so sorry, I didn't know it was you. What happened? Why are you here? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I didn't break the rules. You came here! You can't blame me for this." she then became aware of the other people. Panicked she whispered "Who are they, are they civilians? Did I just attack civilians? Okay, this was my fault. I overreacted, what if it was just a new neighbor or something?!" she ran her fingers through her hair, lost in an emotional craze. She was a very expressive person who talked about as much with her hands as she did with words.

"I am so sorry. Why didn't you call? I asked you to call if yo were coming. I didn't mean to. You know I didn't." She seemed more and more frantic as the men got up, unsteadily, seeming dazed and sore. "I didn't hurt you did I? I am so sorry." Garth went to say something but she grabbed his face looking in his eye, examining him for injury. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Its almost as it you were sneaking up on me." She gasped "Do you think thats me? In the next town? I didn't. I've been right here. I haven't moved, I promise, scouts honor, I'll write it in blood-"

"Lady" gasped Dean, bent over, wheezing for breath "Chill out for a second."

"Who are you?" she looked at him straight in the eyes for the first time and Dean felt scared. She resumed chattering, inspecting Garth and Dean inspected her. He felt as if there was more to this girl then her matronly attitude and psychic jumbo. Dean turned to Cas to say something, but Cas was staring at the girl, all blood had left his face. The woman continued to buzz and Castiel gazed at her, frozen in an emotion Dean couldn't quite place. It was a petrified emptiness that was all encompassing.

"and then I wouldn't have attacked innocents – I asked who you were!" Dean was brought back to earth, looking at the girl, he stammered for a moment.

"This, this is Dean" rasped Garth, massaging his throat. "And thats Sam" Garth pointed, Sam gave a small wave motion with his hand. "And this is-"

"Jimmy." finished Cas. Everyone looked at him. He reached out his hand. " My name is Jimmy. Salutations Miss . . .?"

"Uh, Robin. Robin Goodfellow." taking his hand and shaking it.

"Robin." he nodded at her and backed into line with the others.

She looked at them all. "So, these people . . . are like you?"

"Yes, they're hunters." Garth replied. Robin winced. She was still in an obvious mode of panic and was taking great steading breaths to calm herself down.

"Okay." she said plainly. "Okay. Why don't we all um . . . Sorry I – Well, this is a pleasant surprise . . . Sorry about the um, the . . . I am going in to the kitchen and making some tea. Why don't you all make yourself comfortable in the living room, while I go avoid a nervous breakdown." She turned on her heel, straight-backed, and left the room.

"Okay. What the hell?" blurted Dean as soon as she was out of earshot.

"I don't know." said Sam

"No dude, seriously? What. The Hell." Garth held up his hands in the general don't-attack-me gesture. He rounded on Cas who was still looking at the door where Robin had left. "And you. Why did you say your name is Jimmy?"

Cas turned to him and blinked. "My name _is _Jimmy."

"No. Your vessel's name is Jimmy." He spat.

"Do you know her Cas?" asked Sam.

"No." said Cas, carefully keeping his face blank.

Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows at each other.

"Should we go and sit?" Garth hinted as he made a move toward the door. The rest followed.

"Then why did you lie about your name." Sam asked. Cas paused.

"Cas. Do you know this chick?" demanded Dean, the angel sighed.

"We may have met a long time ago. I'd rather her not remember me." he supplied, displeased. Dean look as if he was going to speak, but Cas interrupted him. "However, because of our shared history I may have some useful information about her."

"Shared history? How well did you know her Cas?" smirked Garth, wiggling his eyebrows. Cas glared at him, which wiped all humor from Garth's face.

"She is a hobgoblin, a very powerful and unholy being. If my assumption is correct, she is actually the first hobgoblin. You may know her as Puck, or Pooka."

"Robin Goodfellow?" asked Sam in boyish excitement. "The Robin Goodfellow?"

"You know her too?" exclaimed Dean, feeling very lost.

"Robin Goodfellow! You know, Shakespeare?" prompted Sam. Dean still looked confused "Puck? Midsummers Night Dream? 'Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin . . .'" Dean raised his eyebrows. "No? Okay."

"Refresh my memory, Sir Nerd-in-tights" Dean urged.

They each sat down in various areas on the living room. Garth flopping himself in a large purple bean bag chair, Sam sat on the couch, Dean leaned against a window seat and Castiel perched himself on the arm of the couch.

"Puck is an imp controlled by the Oberon, King of Fairies"

"King of Fairys?" said Dean, nervously.

"Yes, at least in Shakespeare. In the play, Puck is in charge of collecting a flower cursed by cupid, and from the flower's juice, you can make anyone fall in love with the first person they see. The King of the Fairies wanted to help a poor maiden he saw in the woods pursuing a man that did not love her. Puck accidentally puts it in the eyes of the wrong guy who happens to be the maiden's best friend's lover who then falls in love with the first maiden and then the Queen of the Fairys falls in love with a man with a donkeys head who's preparing for a play thats going to be put on for a different king and queen and then Puck puts the juice in the right guys eyes, but doesn't remove it from the wrong guys eyes so the second girl who's not the queen-"

"Dude." Dean said, holding up his hand. "Sparknotes it for me, would you?"

"Right, uh. Puck is a mischief maker, but the lore of Puck is that he – well I guess she – is a little devilish woodland spirit who plays pranks on the well-off and arrogant."

"Robin is Puck, but Puck is not Robin." announced Garth.

"Well, thank you Garth. That - that really helped." sneered Dean.

"Garth is referring to Historical context. William Shakespeare's Puck is based off of this Robin Goodfellow who resides here, how ever she is an irregular term called a hobgoblin. Most of 'Pucks' or the Puca species refers to a sprite or fairy. She is neither and therefore this Robin is Puck but a puck is not Robin." Castiel stated flatly. Everyone looked at Cas, burning with curiosity.

"So what is she Cas?" Sam prompted.

"I took the keys!" Garth shouted suddenly, taking keys out of his pocket and jingling them in the air. The faint sound of door hinges floated through the house, followed by the click of the door closing.

"Are we keeping her against her will?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I don't feel like being wallpapered again." muttered Dean.

"No, I just know her. She's a bit skittish 'round people." snickered Garth, settling himself down farther into the bean bag. There was a squeak and he jumped.

"Hello Angus!" laughed Garth. Dean jumped and scooted away when Garth turned around cradling a medium-sized white and brown ferret. The ferret crooned and nuzzled his face affectionately, before curling up on his lap.

"Garth?" began Sam.

"Yeah" he asked, scratching the rodent between the ears.

"How did you meet Robin?"

"Yes, how well do you know her." asked Cas, turning his full attention on Garth.

"He was getting his but kicked by a demon." interrupted Robin. Everyone jumped. She came in with mismatched mugs balanced on a tray with cream, sugar, and large teapot, orange juice and white bread ham and cheese sandwiches.

"So were you!" Garth jested good-naturedly

"_We_" she amended, placing the tray on a pile of books "were getting our butts kicked by demons. I lost control and they died and I invited Garth out for hamburgers." she surmised matter-of-factly. "He promised to keep in touch and keep my secret, which I assume he has told you. Help yourself to eaties." she stole a sandwich and looked at them, expectantly. The ferret dashed off Garth's lap, ran up Robin's jeans and curled around her neck, looking absolutely content. Dean shuddered, displeased at the obvious intimacy with the rodent.

No one said anything.

"I assume you're here for a reason. What have I done? Or what can I do? One or the other. Or neither. Or both."

Garth began to explain the murders, the odd claw marks, the stains on the windows and other clues they had found. Dean caught Sam's eye and jerked his head at Cas. Cas was acting very strange. Robin's full attention was on Garth, absorbing everything he said, occasionally asking questions, or pointing out things that may have been missed, but Cas was staring openly at her. Soaking her in like a sponge. His expression was similar to the one Dean had witnessed at a whore house - the time Dean took Cas to loose his virginity. It was a blind panic, but something else too, a pain. And it was so subtle, it burned out of his eyes but left no trace on his face or posture. Dean shot Sam a quizzical look, Sam shrugged looking perturbed.

"Jimmy are you okay?" Garth asked suddenly. Castiel was shocked out of his trance.

"Yes, forgive me. I think I'm in need of some air." and he swept out of the room, his coat swaying behind him.

"Is he okay?" muttered Robin.

"Yeah, I'll go talk to him. He's new, I imagine this is a bit much for him." Dean pushed himself off the window seat and followed.


	2. Chapter 2: Don't Puck With Me

**Thanks for staying tuned guys, I promise I'll update more 3**

Dean got to the hall in time to see the front door close. He followed, sure that Castiel had zapped himself to China already. To his surprise the angel was right outside the door leaning against what remained of the wrap around porch, as if trying to catch his breath. Dean scratched the stubble on his chin, trying to figure out how best to address the situation. He casually stood beside his friend, until he settled on -

"So, Cas. You want to fill me in on what happened in there?"

"No, not really." said Cas, staring at nothing in particular in the distance.

"Okay." Dean frowned. "Listen, why don't you wait in the car. We can handle this -"

"Handle what, Dean?" he argued loudly "You don't know anything about her."

"What? And you do?" demanded Dean, angrily "Cas, I need to know what's going on with you, man. What is it that you're not telling us?"

Cas looked at him, refusing to answer. This was quickly spiraling into a fight

"What, what is it?" Dean shouted "Is she an enemy? A friend? How do you know her?"

"She is dangerous, Dean." Castiel roared, glaring at Dean. He seemed frustrated. "She's dangerous."

"Come on Cas!" nagged Dean "She keeps a ferret for God sakes. She had a panic attack over a bruise."

"An evil that you can't even begin to understand lives within her." he hissed "We can not risk her involvement. I won't risk her involvement."

"Cas-"

"Hey Dean" called Sam, poking his head out the door. He grinned "She made pie."

Garth sat at the edge of a rickety kitchen table, munching on what would be his 4th sandwich. Robin had her back to them, grabbing bowls and forks out of lopsided kitchen cabinets. Sam ducked into the room followed by Dean and Cas. The room smelled amazing.

"Since it's almost dinner time, I figured it was the least I could do after I nearly – well, you know." she turned grinning. "I hope you don't mind, it's basically leftovers." The boys sat down in the mismatched chairs. Robin came over with a big cast-iron pot and set it on a stone slab in the middle of the table. So she was strong too, the thing looked as if it could weigh as much as she did. "It's stew. Beef, carrots, random veggies, potatoes, and the intestines of newborn infants." Everyone froze at the table while Robin spooned a large amount onto Deans plate. "I'm kidding" she smirked. Sam laughed. Dean looked at him, Sam hadn't laughed in such a long time. She had obviously won him over in the seconds he left them alone. Castiel shot him a warning look. Robin served the rest of them. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it. There was something so pure about her, she genuinely cared about them after only a few hours of knowing them.

Sam looked around the room. He guessed she had lived there maybe six or seven years, collecting furniture and china along the way. There were no photographs, no personal decorations, nothing personal as far as he could tell. There were a few moldy beaten up books laying around, but they seemed to be the only things that were hers. She searched absently for napkins and Sam found himself growing attached to her. Not romantically, but a rare feeling of friendship that hadn't taken root in him for a long time, started to grow. She placed some cloth napkins on the table.

"Umm. Salt. Salt and Pepper. Now where did I put that - please get started without me." she bustled around opening drawers.

Sam picked up his spoon only to receive a sharp kick to the leg. He winced and looked up, Dean wagged his finger imperceptibly and pointed at Robin. 'What' Sam mouthed. 'Wait' Dean mouthed back. Dean wasn't taking any chances. If it all came out of the same pot, she was going to taste it first. Likable or not, poisoning was not something he wanted to experience at her hands. She sat down and placed the salt and pepper down. The salt fell over, she fixed it, throwing some over her shoulder in the process. So, she had no reaction to salt. Dean decided to make a mental list. Holy water, silver knife, the works - he was going to test her.

After it became clear the food wasn't poisoned, the ate happily. Robin and Garth entertained them with one or two of their more memorable adventures. Sam told a story where he and Dean were left home alone and decided to practice shooting cans in the woods, only to be spooked senseless by a rabid raccoon. "We didn't know what to do!" he choked out between gasps of laughter "We had never shot anything that wasn't already dead! So there we are, running through the woods and this demonic rodent is hissing and spitting after us -" Garth banged on the tabled with his fist, unable to make a noise from laughing so hard. Even Castiel had a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Before they knew it, the pot was empty along with several cases of beer and 3 pies, it was past dark and a satisfied exhaustion had settled over the troop much like after a long day at the beach.

"Well, none of you can drive at this point," sighed Robin "I'll make up some beds."

"Robin, no. We can't-" started Sam

"You can and you will." she smiled, "I'll be right back." she left and they heard her go up the creaking stairs.

"Should we be staying here?" asked Dean drowsily. "I mean we don't have a place to stay, we didn't find a motel when we got here, but still." Dean rubbed his eyes.

"She offered, and besides, she could have valuable insights on the case since she lives around here." said Sam suppressing a yawn. "What do you think Cas?"

Castiel was not happy. He stood up, all previous humor replaced with the dark cloud of pissed-off. "I will be 'sleeping'" he air quoted "in the car." and he left the room too.

"What's his problem?" asked Sam.

"Eh, I don't know. PMS?" grumbled Dean, finishing off his beer. Bam. Garth's head hit the table, fast asleep. "So, uh, what's your whole take on this." he asked, pointing upstairs.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged "I like her, don't know enough about her to-" Rhythmic squeaks told them Robin was coming back down-stairs.

"Where's Jimmy?" she asked, drying her hands on a towel. Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"He decided to camp out in the car." answered Dean. "He uh, likes, he likes the car." Robin raised her eyebrows.

"Not my biggest fan, I see." she surmised "Thank you for trying to spare my feelings, but you can't make everyone happy." She looked at Garth, smiling. She grabbed his arm and steered him half asleep to the couch in the other room. Angus rushed off his beanbag chair and curled up on top of him. Dean and Sam watched from the kitchen as she threw a blanket over him and tucked in the edges. She walked back into the hallway and motioned with her finger for them to follow quietly. The stairs groaned under their weight.

"Do you have any children, Robin?" whispered Sam, spotting a stuffed bear on top of a hamper at the top of the stairs.

"Um, not anymore. They weren't mine, of course, but they were mine to me." her brow furrowed, as if recalling something sad. "I'm sorry for your loss." she added.

"Our loss?" asked Sam.

"Bobby Singer?" she murmured. "Garth told me. The few times I talked to him, you were all that was on his mind. Sam this, Dean that, the boys such and such. He was a good person."

"Yeah." said Dean, his voice almost breaking. "Yeah, he was."

She took a deep breath "Well this is your room Sam, I figure if you lay down diagonally, you should fit." Sam chuckled.

"Don't worry" he said, "I'm used to it."

"Bathroom and shower are there. And Dean, you're in here." she said, gesturing to a room across the hall.

"In there?"

"Yep."

"I get my own room?"

"Yes...?" she mused, slightly confused.

"Awesome." he rubbed his hands together as she turned to go downstairs. "Hey."

"Yeah?" she said, holding the banister.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, Dean." she said warmly, and she descended the stairs. "If you need anything, let me know." she whispered loudly.

"Okay" he whispered back.

Dean took off his jacket, stretched, and went over to open the window. He breathed in the sweet autumn air. His baby was parked just over there, glinting in the moonlight. A couple moments passed when he heard the screen door below him. He watched suspiciously as Robin creeped across the lawn with something bulky in her arms. She was heading towards the Impala.

Dean's hands clenched on the window sill. What was she doing? She sneaked along the side and peeked through the window. She then dropped the whole spy thing and stood straight up, looking around confused. Was she trying to find Cas? Well good luck, sister. She tried to open the door, she struggled with it for a while and just as Dean was about to call out, she put something on the roof, turned up her jacket collar and headed back to the house. Dean ducked to the left so she wouldn't see him. After he heard the door close downstairs he looked again outside.

Castiel was watching from the edge of the woods. She was beautiful of course, hadn't aged a day. Some form of carnivorous bird was tugging at his etherial heart strings. He did not trust her. He should not trust her. But it was he who could not be trusted. He knew that his childish words had not swayed Dean's judgement. Anyone could see that she was, for lack of a better word, an angel.

It was his fault.

More images long since buried flickered in his mind. His visits with Naomi, although less frequent of late, had stirred memories that were not supposed to still exist. People he had killed, civilizations he had helped level, worlds he had buried and knowledge he never wanted.

Her pale skin reflected the moonlight like abalone shells, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She would remember him of course, how many times had she said his name? Her pace was determined, cautious, she was heading to where she assumed he would be resting. She was coming to confront him, she had seen through his facade, she knew who he was, she was going to shout every horrible thing he deserved at him, she . . . she . . . she was leaving. Castiel came out of the trees before he knew what he was doing, but she was already across the lawn. She stiffened, he knew she could smell him, but she chose to continue. The automobile had something on it that she had deposited. The door slammed.

Dean watched as Castiel as he came out of of the shadows, gazing after Robin. His hand reach out and he traced his fingers on the object. What if it was explosive?

"C-!"But his worries were soon reduced to ash. Castiel picked it up and Dean realized it was a blanket. She had brought him a blanket. Castiel looked to the house again, and then saw Dean. Dean gave him a 'I'm-totally-smug-but-here-when-you-want-to-talk' look and moved away.

Sam got himself settled. The mirror was broken, and the wallpaper peeled away from something that looked like scratches on the wall. There was a wooden dresser, a closet, and a bookcase. This room by far looked the most personalized, and with a jolt he realized she had given up her room. He was tempted to go down and switch with where ever she was going to sleep, but then thought she would be insulted or something. Absently he ran his finger along the books. Jane Austen, Edgar Allen Poe, Victor Hugo, Robert Louis Stevenson, Oscar Wilde, Voltaire, Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling and lots of William Shakespeare. They all looked quite old.

Suddenly Sam remember that Cas has said that Shakespeare based Robin Goodfellow after their Robin. The Robin downstairs. He searched for Midsummer Night's Dream among the titles, but it wasn't there. She had such an extensive collection it seemed ridiculous she should be without this particular play. He picked up Othello, tracing the embossed script with his calloused fingers. And then noticed something behind it. Seized with curiosity, he pulled more and more books out until he revealed a wooden box. With trembling hands he eased the decorative chest from it's dusty hiding place. It was unlocked, he opened it. Inside were scraps of paper, yellowed with age. He sifted through them, picked one up and read:

**(NOTE: This is actually as it is written by William Shakespeare. The little 'ſ' is equivalent to 's' and there are a lot of extra 'e's and also 'v' was actually 'u')**

_Deareſt Little Robin Red-Breaſt_

_If the dull ſubstance of my fleſh were thought,_  
_Iniurious diſtance ſhould not ſtop my way,_  
_For then diſpight of ſpace I would be brought,_  
_From limits farre remote,where thou dooſt ſtay,_  
_No matter then although my foote did ſtand_  
_Vpon the fartheſt earth remoou'd from thee,_  
_For nimble thought can iumpe both ſea and land,_  
_As ſoone as thinke the place where he would be._  
_But ah,thought kills me that I am not thought_  
_To leape large lengths of miles when thou art gone,_  
_But that ſo much of earth and water wrought,_  
_I muſt attend,times leaſure with my mone._  
_Receiuing naughts by elements ſo ſloe,_  
_But heauie teares,badges of eithers woe._

_Remaining in fondneſſe,_

_W.S._

There were many more like this until he got to the bottom. A thick stack of papers held together by leather cord.

_Faireſt Pook,_

_My loue is ſtrengthned though more weake in ſee-_  
_I loue not leſſe,thogh leſſe the ſhow appeare, (ming_  
_That loue is marchandiz'd,whoſe ritch eſteeming,_  
_The owners tongue doth publiſh euery where._  
_Our loue was new,and then but in the ſpring,_  
_When I was wont to greet it with my laies,_  
_As Philomell in ſummers front doth ſinge,_  
_And ſtops his pipe in growth of riper daies:_  
_Not that the ſummer is leſſe pleaſant now_  
_Than when her mournefull himns did huſh the night,_  
_But that wild muſick burthens euery bow,_  
_And ſweets growne common looſe their deare delight,_  
_Therefore like her, I ſome-time hold my tongue:_  
_Becauſe I would not dull you with my ſonge._

_I feare thiſ be our laſt encounter_

_Deareſt Nightingale, I pray humble acceptance_

Sam flipped the page.

_A MIDſUMMER NIGHTſ DREAM_

Sam almost dropped the whole thing. He was touching something that William Shakespeare wrote. William Shakespeare's hand had once been on this paper. Not that he was that big of a fan but, damn. He flipped through the pages, all Shakespeare's notes, corrections, ink splots, cross outs, everything was in it. It was truly priceless.

And currently in his grimy smudgey hands.

Panicked he tried to put it all back in the box. He put all the books back and tried to forget about it. That was until he felt a draft, from inside the closet.

Dean went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Well, all his stuff including his toothbrush was in the Impala so in reality he was just going to rinse his mouth out a bit. Plus he had to pee. He closed the door behind him and checked to see if Robin maybe had some toothpaste in the mirror-cabinet above the faucet. He opened it and a dozen prescription bottles fell into the porcelain sink. He put them back hurriedly but not before he caught a glimpse at some of the labels. Oxycodone. Whoa, he read some other labels: Percocet, MS Contin, Dilaudid, Vicodin, and box labeled Fentora. Holy Shit. These were some serious freakin pain meds. They were all under different names too, Gillian Edwards, Stanley Tucci, Louise Guiney, Katherine Briggs, and Edmund Garrett. Completely forgetting about brushing his teeth, headed back to his room only to be stopped in his tracks by the image of Sam hold a purple bra aloft in a completely disassembled room.

"Dude." said Dean. Sam jumped.

"It's not what you think." he said, tossing the bra aside.

"Jeez. If you wanted to rifle through her drawers so bad -"

"Dean. Shut up."

Dean chuckled "No but seriously, what are you doing?"

"Shh, look at this, look look look." he grabbed Deans arm and pulled him inside. He opened the closet, turned on the light and went behind the clothes.

"What are you doing? Checking for skeletons in the closet?" hissed Dean. Sam grabbed his sleeved and pulled him through the clothes.

"Woah."

"I know."

They were in another small room full of boxes, trunks, paintings, and old stuff. There was a record player and carved miniature boats. Glass jars and bottles. Somethings had more dust then others, the box with he least dust was on Dean's right. He opened it. Inside was atop hat, opera gloves, golden binoculars, a fan, a pearl necklace, a playbill and two tickets to La Bayadère on February 4th 1900. Dean whistled and put on the top hat. "Bah, Humbug."

"Dean" Sam whined "Don't touch anything."

"Alright alright." Dean smirked "So, what – she like antiques?"

"No, she is an antique. Look at this." Sam held up a framed black and white photo. Robin, in a high collar dress from the late 1800 with three other people.

"Okay, well how old is she?" Dean shrugged. Sam raised his eyebrows. He opened a rusty ancient wooden box and handed Dean a painting on a wooden disk. It was Robin's face, she had beads in her hair and around her neck. "Okay and?"

"This painting is from the 60's." he paused "As is 60 AD. It's by an artist I recognized from an Art History course in college. A Pompeii artist."

"Like Pompeii, volcano day Pompeii?" Dean sputtered. "So what she's 2,000 years old?"

"Maybe more, this is the oldest thing I could find." answered Sam.

"And um, what were you doing elbow deep in her panties?" jested Dean.

"Dean, grow up." chided Sam "I was looking for a secret compartment."

"Oh I bet you searching for that secret compart-" Sam shoved Dean on his way back through the clothes curtain. Dean followed but on his way out he saw a book _Brownies and Bogles_ by Louise Imogen Guiney. Wait a minute, Louise Guiney was a name on the pain killers. He picked it up and let it fall open.

"_The very old word Pouke meant the devil, horns, tail, and all; from that word, as it grew more human and serviceable, came the Pixy of Devonshire, the Irish Phooka, the Scottish Bogle, and the Boggart in Yorkshire; and even one nursery-tale title of Bugaboo. Oddest of all, the name Pug, which we give now to an amusing race of small dogs, is an every-day reminder of poor lost Puck, and of the queer changes which, through a century or two, may befall a word._"

"Hey Sammy."

"What?"

"I think I found something." Sam came back holding another book.

"Yeah, me too." _Hobgoblin and Sweet Puck _by Gillian Edwards.

"Looks Robby doesn't give a puck." Dean grinned.


End file.
